


Void Shields Down

by orphan_account



Category: Warhammer 40.000, Warhammer 40k (Novels) - Various Authors
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Autoerotic Asphyxiation, BDSM, Bondage and Discipline, Brother/Brother Incest, Dominance, Double Penetration in One Hole, Extremely Dubious Consent, Father/Son Incest, Frottage, Gay, Khorne, M/M, Multi, Murder, Nurgle, Parent/Child Incest, Power Struggle, Rebellion, Sibling Incest, Slaanesh, Tzeentch - Freeform, change, shitpost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-01-30 09:00:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21425596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: If Horus Lupercal had changed plans just a little...even after the culmination of nine years, well. Things would've resulted very differently. Perhaps for the better. Depending on what side you picked.
Relationships: Horus/Emperor of Mankind, Horus/Ezekyle Abaddon, Horus/Rogal Dorn, Horus/Sanguinius (WH40K)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 30





	1. Not Just as Planned

The screech of metal on metal from thousands of plated Astartes fighting their brothers echoed through the _Vengeful Spirit_. Bolter fire sounded from both sides, battle cries in various languages. The few loyalists that had managed to board the Traitor Flagship were being cut down, but the Warmaster had a large problem to deal with. An alarm sounded behind him, just a few yards away and he sighed, aiming his Talon at the offending invaders. Two guardsmen stood boldly waiting to fight, laspistols drawn and shaking as he looked at them with little regard. One shot. Two. Their brains decorated the wall of the control room and Horus turned back to the strategium panel. Messages poured in from the astropaths of the incoming fleets, specifically carrying Roboute Guilliman at full speed to Terra.

Angron had stalled them just enough with his bloodlust. The walls around the palace were holding just a little too long. Horus had to do something big, and he had to do it quickly. There wasn’t enough time to just fight and take over. Too many more would die pointlessly that way. No, Horus had to do something _more._

What, however, eluded him briefly as more reports flooded in. A company of his Sons had been wiped out. His Traitor brothers in the Mechanicus were too busy infighting to provide a solution. Running would only mean this same fight would happen again later, and the damned loyals would be prepared. Too many deaths would come from running. It would do good to spill blood, but not without honor. He enjoyed the freshness of this spontaneous war, but he was getting bored with it. It couldn’t last forever. It would become a plague with nowhere to infect if he continued. No, now he had to make a plan. And he had to make it without the influence of the damned Chaotic forces riding him.

_Lure them on board,_ a changing voice hissed and cooed all at once. Horus shook his head. That was too simple. Getting them on board was fine, yes, but that didn’t end the damned thing. That didn’t get him a throne, and that didn’t revive the Imperium. It didn’t avenge his dead men on either side. It didn’t keep him alive. No, he had to do _more_ than force them to board.

Something they wouldn’t expect…and if he got them on board, they’d expect a fight. The astartes would provide enough of that. He had to deal with the bigger problems that boarded. He couldn’t just fight them. He might could convince them to join him. He might be able to sway them. But he couldn’t do it right in the middle of the fighting. What he needed was time. And he needed to get that time on his own, without another damned fight on his hands.

_Fight, fight, fight,_ a voice called and he ignored it. No, not another fight. Fights weren’t winning. And deep down he hated conquest as much as he had the day he’d stepped down on Davin. This wasn’t about fighting to him anymore. This was about absolute, true victory.

He took in a sharp breath as the plan became to form. _No, no, this is not my plan, Chosen, you follow my plan and this can’t go wrong._

“Frankly, Lord of Change, I don’t give a fuck what you’re planning,” Horus mumbled. “This isn’t your brothers, sisters, sons, daughters, and Father we’re talking about, and if I am going down in a blaze of glory, I am doing it on my own. Damned. Terms.”

There was a dissatisfied crackle behind him, and Horus staggered a bit. Tzeentch’s blessing was gone. No matter. Honor still remained, and if Horus knew how to do nothing else, he knew how to fight honorably. Whether this fight involved weapon or word, he would go to the end swinging with all his might.

He was a Primarch. He was the Warmaster. He was the Favored Son of the Emperor. He was the Chosen of Chaos. But most of all, he was Horus Lupercal and his legacy would not be smothered in the ashes of betrayed memories. If he died in this battle, he died as himself. Not as some puppet of any force, not even family or divine.

He stared down at the control panels, listening to binaric curses and prayers filling the room as they threatened viruses upon each other. Then the idea clicked. He could get time by running, but only if he took something valuable with him.

What did the Imperium value more than the Emperor of Mankind? Nothing. Nothing at all. So now, all Horus had to do was extend the invitation.

“Tech Priest, I don’t care which one, just one of you listen,” Horus stated, his voice a little warmer now that Tzeentch had left him. He felt slightly relieved. As though he could rest. That would be a first since Davin, too.

“Warmaster,” one of the older ones answered after a long silence in the binaric banter.

“I have a job for you all,” Horus replied, rubbing a bead of sweat from his bald head. He felt slightly sick and it irritated him. He wasn’t designed to be sick. Perhaps nerves were finally catching up to him. “You will lower the void shields when I give the command. And as soon as the Emperor boards, regardless of who boards with him, you will put them back up and initiate a Warp Jump to literally anywhere in the direction of away from Terra. Am I clear?”

More silence as their personal cogitators processed what they were being ordered to do. Horus was grateful they didn’t have a lot of options when it came to facial expressions. He was content to imagine a constipated machine-man instead of having it as a scarring memory. Then, as though some miracle had graced the ship, the Mechanicus bastards all seemed to understand what was going on.

“You are clear, Warmaster,” the same Tech Priest stated. Horus nodded and looked back at the Strategium. Now he had to get as many of his allies out alive as would leave. He tapped the vox system and connected to all of his Traitor brothers. What would he tell them? That they were running? That wouldn’t work, so he only cut on the vox to his Legion.

“Sons of Horus, get to your stations as quickly as possible. We’re leaving soon, but we’re not running. Carve your way through this scum. And be ready for more. I have a plan,” he stated firmly, but softly. And felt a smile creep to his lips as his First Captain answered.

“You have a plan?” Ezekyle Abaddon asked, his power claws loudly ripping through another Astartes’ armor and the spurting blood of two hearts splashing onto his vox. There was a defiant yell that faded out, along with Abaddon’s voice informing the loyalist where he could go. And it wasn’t to the Emperor’s side.

“We’re kidnapping the Emperor, Ezekyle.”

“…that’s a new plan,” his First Captain responded and Horus could practically hear his eyebrows trying to poke the topknot he wore. Though it was much shorter since the fire. “I like it.”

Bolter fire filled the area where Abaddon was fighting and the vox cut in and out, but it did not stifle his battle cry.

“For the Warmaster!” he screamed and Horus looked at the Tech Priests gathered around the shields. He held up his hand, took a deep breath, and waited for the bolters to quiet. A few dozen shots petered into a few, then one, then silent.

“Void Shields down,” Horus stated, making a fist. The invitation was sent. Now he waited to see who showed up to the main event.


	2. Abduction

The defenses on Terra were holding, barely. Rogal Dorn rallied who he could while skimming constantly incoming reports on what was damaged. The death count was high, the biggest threats being the Emperor’s Children running through the hives and raping whatever hole they could find, be it human, animal, or wall, and the World Eaters throwing themselves at anything that moved. Or at least, that they perceived moving. The Custodians were spread thin but taking the least casualties. The Iron Warriors—bastards that they were—harried the Imperial Fists trying to corral mortals into safe places. They also tended to direct their strongest weapons at monuments and buildings they knew the Fists took pride in. It wasn’t just a war for them, it was personal. Revenge would have to wait.

“Primarch!” a familiar voice shouted, frantic, desperate, and angry.

“Report,” Dorn stated as calmly as he could muster as the bombs continued pounding into the walls he’d fortified.

“The _Vengeful Spirit_ has lowered her shields. We can board, we can end this, sir!” the Astartes, Oriax Dantalion, stated firmly. Dorn’s eyes widened, then he saluted and turned towards the Wall Within. The Emperor had to know. This had to end before the bloodshed increased. Horus had to be educated on loyalty, and the sins would have to be atoned for, but there was still a chance to salvage the Imperium. His pace could not be matched even by his Astartes guards as he shoved the doors open. The Emperor’s face had blood oozing down the lips and His eyes were narrowed, but unfocused. The Custodian guard stood beside the Throne and looked to their Master, bodies poised and unflinching. But Dorn knew if they wore no helmets, their faces would be wrinkled with worry.

“Father,” he whispered, afraid to disturb the war in the Emperor’s mind.

“I know, Rogal,” the Emperor replied, eyes focusing and regaining their bright golden glow. “We have been invited to end this. We must take this invitation.”

“We must, Sir,” Dorn replied, turning his gaze towards the palace area that contained the teleportarium. Could the Custodians and Imperial Fists defeat Horus’s maddened schemes? Of course they could. With the Emperor leading them, surely they would win. Doubt wouldn’t win anything, at least.

“I would go. I would see our brother’s treachery first-hand, and end it if I can,” a warm voice said from behind Dorn.

“It is likely we will have to kill Horus. Are you prepared for that, Sanguinius?” Dorn asked, not turning around. He heard the rustling of feathers as his brother’s spear pressed against his cheek.

“We all do as we must. My sons will avenge whatever outcome there is. I suspect Horus’s will too,” Sanguinius said calmly, pulling his weapon back to himself. Dorn could feel him staring, waiting for orders, and just as he turned to reproach his brother, the Emperor stepped off the Throne, Malcador in His place.

“We can bicker later, there is a major problem to solve in orbit. It just happens to be…” the Emperor started, then stopped. Dorn and Sanguinius looked at him, expecting to see something angry or disappointed, but instead saw worry and confusion. Both traits they had never associated with the Master of Mankind.

“Father?” Sanguinius asked gently, his wings flexing behind him. And while they stood in a brief silence, the three realized what the elephant in the room was. Horus was the Emperor’s son more than all of the others combined. The Emperor had actually raised him, taught him, trained him, fought at his side the hardest, longest, and most often. While their brothers such as Angron or Mortarion only called the Emperor Father by name, or out of grudging respect, Horus truly was His son. His favorite son, at that. They had a kinship the other Primarchs did not, and in this moment, the wound of losing His favorite child had been exposed.

Nor was it just the favorite son that had gone astray. It was also the favorite brother. The one that would listen to all the other Primarchs, even when they whined about petty things, or bragged about lesser victories than Horus had achieved. Horus had always been there for them, listening, advising, giving compassion, and supporting when no one else would. In some ways, Horus was more of a father to the Primarchs than the Emperor himself. At least in actions.

“We right the wrong,” the Emperor finally said. His golden eyes faded a second, then resumed their luster as he looked to the sky. Another bombardment smacked into the walls, still holding, barely.

“We do, Sir,” Dorn replied. His solution to the problem was to cut off the head of the beast, but he could see that his Angel brother and All-Powerful Father had different hopes. He would allow them the effort but deep inside he knew that Horus was lost. The man that had been his brother for so long was no more, dead nine years past. It would take more than the power of the Emperor to save him. It would take a miracle of religious proportions that only Lorgar’s fools had enough faith to believe was possible.

“Get your best, we go quickly,” the Emperor stated, giving signal for His best custodians to take his side. Dorn called his First Company and nodded as Sanguinius fell in pace with his own strongest. They stepped towards the beams, arrayed in a noble display of martial prowess as they began to teleport onto the Spirit.

Dorn’s eyes watered when he reformed, his stomach a little unsettled as he looked around. They were not in the teleportarium of either the _Vengeful Spirit_ or the Palace of Terra. Sanguinius was nowhere nearby. The Emperor was nowhere nearby. Only three of his Astartes were with him. They’d been scattered across the damned ship.

“Orders, sir?” the youngest in the First Company asked just as a bolter shell plunged into his right eye. He staggered backwards, blood gushing from his mouth and the wound as he tried to fight, then collapsed into a writhing heap on the ground. The seizures stopped soon after and his body began to cool as death engulfed him. Dorn whispered an honor over his son’s death, taking a deep breath and looking to where the shell had come from. A turret. Not only had they been scattered, but they’d been strategically scattered. The two Fists that had not been shot charged and dismantled the turret in seconds. They took up formation to protect their Primarch at all costs. Then they heard the vox warnings on the _Spirit _activate.

_“Please secure yourself and all belongings. Warp Jump will be initiated in three minutes. Repeating, please secure yourself and all belongings. Warp Jump will be initiated in three minutes.”_

Dorn’s mouth opened and he looked at his sons in disbelief. There wasn’t time to get off the ship. There wasn’t time to call for more aid. Silently they all maglocked to the floor and stared at each other, stunned.

Horus was kidnapping them. And the Emperor.


	3. Confrontation

_Oh hells, that worked better than I had hoped,_ Horus thought as he paced the Strategium. His Mournival—Ezekyle Abaddon, Horus Aximand, Falkus Kibre, and Grael Noctua—Tormageddon or something—stood in the shadows with their weapons ready. They were all glaring at the entrance, hearts pounding, practically foaming—literally in Tormageddon’s case—at the mouth with the thought of another battle approaching.

_You should find the invaders and attack them, Lupercal,_ a hot, angry voice growled in the back of Horus’s mind. Khorne, he noted to himself while pushing the sounds away. He wasn’t going to fight, certainly not until after they finished the Warp Jump. The shields had barely gotten back up in time, and the ship itself was lurching from the heavy hits it had taken.

_Go, go, attack them. Kill them. Wear their skulls, wear their skin, spill their blood at your feet in my name,_ the voice continued. It refused to accept that Horus was ignoring it. And it certainly wasn’t going to accept him not following orders.

Except Horus made his own decisions and had done so since Tzeentch got offended that he had a different plan. Perhaps longer, but he wasn’t entirely sure of that.

_Spill. Their. Blood!_ Khorne shouted, and despite his best intentions Horus found himself aiming his Talon at Kibre’s head. He took a deep breath and lowered the weapon, steadying himself the best he could. He fought not to chew his lower lip, having to squeeze his eyes shut not to open fire on his loyal men. The bloodlust grew thicker; he could taste it as his teeth brushed his tongue. But he refused to bite and refused to shoot. He would not kill anymore of his sons, regardless of what power demanded he do so. As fast as the bloodlust had grown, it vanished. There was a disgusted snarl in the back of Horus’s mind before another voice left him, and he staggered forward, wheezing.

“Primarch!” Abaddon shouted, running to Horus’s side and steadying him. The grinding of metal from his maglocked boots sliding against the flooring made the others cringe, but Horus put an arm around Abaddon’s shoulders and stood back up.

“I am well, Ezekyle, thank you,” he stated as firmly as he could. And as his voice finally managed to stabilize, the door slid open and there stood Sanguinius, wings unfurled, and lips curled in a furious frown.

“Brother,” Horus whispered. His lungs felt heavier than usual and the wound from Davin was burning under his armor.

“I waste my breath, Horus, but I waste it in hopes you have some form of sense left in your mind. Return to Terra and surrender, that the Emperor put his wrath on you swiftly and we rebuild before there is nothing to build with.”

“The Warmaster has no need to listen to your foolish demands, you mutated bird-thing,” Ezekyle spat, drawing his swords. A second later the Worldbreaker and Sanguinius’s spear were clashed just an inch from Abaddon’s nose.

“Ignore him, brother,” Horus growled as he pushed the Angel backwards, then withdrew his weapon.

“Have you become a coward, Horus?” Sanguinius hissed as he stepped back as well.

“Would there be honor in fighting and dying here, out in the void ocean, with none to testify to the truth of what happened?” Horus asked quietly, coughing after he finished his question. After a moment he realized the illness was a “blessing” from Nurgle, and one he did not want at all.

“Was there honor in murdering our sons on Isstvan? Was there honor attacking the Sol System with little defense? Was there honor in abducting us?” Sanguinius spat.

“No, no, and yes,” Horus answered weakly, commanding his body silently to stay upright. The wound burned more, and he saw fever dreams flicker in the sides of his vision. “But honor is relative if you know not the whole story. A man who fights for his leader’s cause—even when his leader has agreed to side with the enemy, no less—Is still a man of honor. Yet those who are blind to the whole story see only a traitor.”

“Your words are heresy, Horus!” Sanguinius shouted, wings flared, eyes narrowed.

“They are the truth I see, not a religious sentiment, brother. We are not to be religious; you know that. And yet the Imperium is falling into that, is it not? Some of our brothers are like gods to the mortals, and some of us like daemons. But are we not men, at the end of the day?”

“Are you truly so mad, so beyond the reason we built together!?” Sanguinius screamed as he charged forward, only to have Horus weakly block his spear with the mace. His body trembled, not because he was afraid, but because he was losing strength rapidly.

_Share the pain, share the illness, decay is eternal, and with it, you can remain together forever. Is that not your deepest desire from even before you took up our banner? To be with them all, forever?_

Horus hit his knees and looked up at Sanguinius, his eyes begging his brother to trust him just once more and back away. By some miracle, the trust was found and Sanguinius took five steps back, eyes wide. Abaddon had again drawn his weapons to fight, but had not charged because he had not been given orders to do so. The Blood Angels behind Sanguinius stood at attention, their own weapons just daring a chance to draw blood to arise.

_You do not need to deny it, that’s almost shameful, little one. Embrace that which you cannot beat. Destroy the stagnant, make it regress so that one day it can progress. _

“I will not,” Horus gurgled, green goop dripping out of his mouth and the stab wound—scar for so long, again open and festering—stinging and making him claw off his armor.

“Father!” Ezekyle shouted as he fell to his knees beside his Primarch, helping him remove the breastplate and shoulders. The wound was burning red, shaped like an eight-pointed star. His eyes were fading to grey and his mouth gushing various shades of yellow, green, and black spittle that seared the floor.

_You refuse?_

Horus nodded, his body shivering and his skin hot to the touch as he pressed a finger to the wound that tore itself open.

_Your rudeness will be remembered, little one._

The wound popped open with a loud _splurk_ noise and Horus collapsed to the floor. He shook violently as he vomited various fluids and chunks, some of them with eyes that looked up at the people curiously. Horus shuddered, took in a deep breath, and puked again, this time tiny clawing hands tried to slide away but were stomped by the Mournival. Kibre unleashed his flamer on high, searing the vomit to a stinking heap of rotten ash. Aximand cussed and went to support Horus’s other side, shoving the _Serpent’s Scales_ armor pieces to the side.

“Throne, Throne, Throne,” one of the Blood Angels muttered as they watched. Sanguinius stared a moment longer before handing one of them his spear and kneeling down beside his ailing brother.

“Did you choose this?” he whispered, using the hem of his cape to wipe the mess from Horus’s lips. “Did you choose this path?”

“Ultimately, yes, but the decision…was not made of my right mind,” Horus sputtered, his body threatening to seize and something in his mind delighting in the sensations far too much. The youngest god. The one they called Prince yet was neither prince nor princess. Slaanesh.

“Are you back, brother? Do I hope too much that you have returned to us?”

“My Angel,” Horus whispered as his body refused to hold him anymore. He fell into Sanguinius’s arms, shivering and tears dripping down his cheeks. “I didn’t leave, I was smothered by things…that even now I cannot explain.”

“Things that you should not try to explain,” a hot voice stated from the doorway. The Emperor had made His way to the Strategium, and the frown on His lips showed that He was displeased.

“…hello, Father.”


	4. Full Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It actually becomes a shitpost now. A very, very smutty shitpost.

Horus wasn’t entirely sure how he managed to get to his feet; it could’ve been pride or respect, but he was standing and staring into the golden eyes he’d looked into so many times before. They were angry. The entire face of his Father was fury. He’d seen a look like that a few times. When an Ork had gotten too close, or when combat wasn’t going in their favor. And that time he’d set the Emperor’s freshly rehabilitated Bonsai on fire with a hand flamer he’d stolen from a guardsman. Granted, he was about eight at the time and fire was always something that stole his better senses.

“Horus Lupercal,” the Emperor stated, hand tight on the flaming sword that had cut down millions. “What the ­_fuck_ have you done?”

And Horus stared, not at all sure what to say. He’d had a speech prepared for this encounter, but it didn’t feel right. Any other attempts at diplomacy were left at Terra. So he stared. And took in a deep slow breath, closing his eyes and opening them. He felt young. Like a riled, angry teenager again.

“I can explain, Papa,” he mumbled as his gaze went to the floor. His lips curled at the site of the ashen Nurgle deposit. It was so distasteful. And messy. And the _smells_ still lingered.

“Explain with your blood,” Rogal Dorn hissed as he stomped into the room, a bolter aimed at Horus’s chest. He was waiting for any excuse to fire a thousand times. But he showed restraint, for the time.

“Go on, Brother, shoot me,” Horus whispered. It wasn’t entirely his voice. And he wasn’t entirely sure why he felt so aroused at the thought of being shot to death.

“Put the bolter down, Rogal,” the Emperor stated firmly. Dorn obeyed. Sanguinius moved back to his Legionnaires, watching the situation with folded wings. Ezekyle stepped between the Emperor and Horus. There was no fear in his stance, only anger. But he did nothing more than stand.

Horus, however, noticed only his butt. He wanted the armor off. He could get through the body suit if he pushed hard enough. There had to be a way to detach the lower half of the armor without having to remove it all.

And he found his hands around the Astartes waist, pushing the codpiece off and peeling back the legplates much to everyone’s surprise. Ezekyle protested, but didn’t fight, instead taking a step closer to Horus as his shaft was caught in his Primarch’s left hand. Ezekyle sputtered various Cthonic curses as the armor was detached improperly, sending electric pulses through his carapace, yet he did not make any efforts to stop his Primarch from groping. Horus hoped his First Captain was enjoying it, but couldn’t focus on anything other than getting closer and inside.

“Primarch…is that a good idea?” Falkus muttered, looking at the loyalists who stared in various shades of red. Horus ignored him for the moment as his tongue dove into Abaddon’s ear, running over every crevice as he pushed his body against the Astartes.

“Horus, is this really the level you’ve dropped to?” the Emperor growled, having stepped forward and put his sword down. Horus looked at him over Abaddon’s ear and smirked, pulling his First Captain closer still. His left hand continued to jerk on the Astartes’ cock as his own length threatened to tear through his own body suit.

“Jealous, Father?” Horus taunted as he felt Abaddon shudder in his grip. His right hand begin to run up and down the crease over Abaddon’s crack, slowing down as it got lower, then speeding up and cutting into the fabric as it got higher. He wasn’t sure when he’d developed claws but it could wait. They were proving useful, and the heat emanating from his First Captain showed that this sudden display of exhibitionism wasn’t unwanted.

“If you knew how to dominate without being ridden by a god with no determined gender, I might be,” the Emperor hissed, taking another step forward. Horus watched him as Abaddon’s body suit tore under his fingers. He pressed a claw against the skin and began licking down the man’s neck. He could feel the blood flowing under his tongue and purred gently when his eyes locked with Sanguinius’s.

_Oh, you’re jealous too, are you, Angel?_ Horus thought as he considered what all he could do to taunt the men in front of him. A second later, he sunk his teeth into Abaddon’s flesh, stopping at the carapace for now. The Astartes backed into Horus hard as his cock spurted thick white juice and blood drizzled into the half of his armor still attached.

_“P-Primarch, I…”_ Abaddon muttered in Cthonic as he looked down. Usually such an orgasm would leave him flaccid, but if anything, he was harder than before. More importantly, he _wanted_ more. And before he could stop himself, had shoved himself on his Primarch’s shaft down to the balls and was pushing himself up and down to try and take more.

Horus licked Abaddon’s ear and purred gently into it, still gripping his First Captain’s length firmly and continuing to stroke. His eyes looked around the room, insatiable hunger gripping his entire body as he slammed himself into Abaddon’s tight ass over and over.

“Brother, stop, stop!” Sanguinius shouted after a moment, stepping forward. Horus looked at him, half-curious, half-unable to focus on anything but his swollen member pulsing in Abaddon’s anus.

“Is there a problem?” he muttered, feeling his climax coming. It was going to be bigger than usual. In fact, he was bigger than usual. He felt his width double as the fluids spurted from his cock, catching Abaddon by the chest as the cum pushed him forward. Abaddon didn’t move a long moment, the entire room staring at the flood of semen dripping from his ass. He looked up after his eyes regained focus and saw the Emperor staring at him specifically. For a moment, he thought he noticed the Emperor’s belt shift, but shoved the thought away as Horus eased him to his knees.

“Horus, you could’ve killed him like that!” Dorn gasped, taking another step back in mixed horror and embarrassment.

“And he’d have died happy,” Horus replied quietly, stroking himself to try and ease the tension.

“Bestial,” Tormageddon growled, shaking his head in disgust. But before he could make another statement, Horus had slit his throat with Abaddon’s power sword. Another swipe, and the head _thudded_ on the floor, a trail of blood sputtering behind it and the body staggering back two steps before collapsing into a grinding heap of mangled flesh and armor on the floor. Seeing no reason to try and preserve what was left of his pride, Horus jerked himself off over the body, cum splattering into the pool of blood before he turned back to the horrified group.

“If it isn’t obvious enough,” he stated quietly, averting his gaze from the stunned men, “I am literally so horny right now the idea of fucking a chainsword isn’t out of the question. Any of you that can sate me, I will be eternally grateful, and as soon as the Prince is bored, we can start working on fixing the mess I’ve caused.”

The Blood Angel Astartes looked at their Primarch and then started towards him when he took a step towards Horus. His wings flapped backwards once and they stopped, bolters aimed at the Warmaster.

“Horus…if there’s a chance to save you, still…and I think there is, if distant…” Sanguinius stated quietly, removing his armor. Horus stared at him longingly, and as soon as the Angel’s shaft was exposed, he fell to his knees in front of him and took the entire thing in his mouth. He took it as deep as possible, trying to deny that the lack of air made him want even more. A voice in his head taunted him, giggling about the strange combination of pleasure and pain, the risks, the throbbing as he licked and gagged.

“Horus, t-take it deeper, you know you c-can,” Sanguinius mumbled as his hand wrapped around the back of Horus’s bald head. He shoved his crotch forward, feeling his tip go past Horus’s mouth and into the throat. The gagging pulled it deeper and Sanguinius gasped as his length swelled. His wings stretched out fully, pushing him further in. He felt a hot, thick liquid dripping on his feet. Horus had cum yet again, but refused to slow down until Sanguinius had filled his craw with his own white cream. And Sanguinius was not one to deny his brother in this, wings flapping harder. Horus’s eyes crossed due to the lack of oxygen in his lungs but focused his tongue on Sanguinius’s tip when he pulled out a little. The Angel shivered and shoved back deeper. There was a loud clank behind them but Horus could not move to see what was happening.

Dying while choking on Sanguinius’s cock was absolutely a great way to go. Something moved to his left, then he felt something lift his waist.

“You are being very, very bad, Horus,” a familiar voice said behind him. Horus’s eyes widened as he felt a cold, golden gauntlet clasp around his cock. And then something pushed into his uncut tip before latching around the meat of his shaft. He groaned when he realized the device was stopping him from any form of ejaculation, be it drizzle or explosion. And then Sanguinius released, coating Horus’s mouth and throat in thick, sticky liquid as he pulled out.

“Don’t…stop,” Horus mumbled as he coughed, cum dripping down his chin.

“I don’t think He is going to stop, Horus,” Sanguinius stated, taking a step back. Horus looked up at him, not quite certain what his brother meant when he felt the Emperor’s shaft slam itself inside. He gasped and fell forward, only his ass being held up, and that only by the Emperor’s cock.

“F-Father, I—”

“Have a long way to go to earn forgiveness,” the Emperor stated firmly. “But begging is certainly a good place to start.”


	5. Redemption

Sanguinius, Dorn, Abaddon, Aximand, and Kibre, along with the Fists and Blood Angels that had come with them, stared with gazes ranging from stunned horror to fascinated arousal as the Emperor pounded Horus’s ass, speeding up, then stopping until Horus begged Him to keep going. Once He was satisfied that Horus had begged enough for the moment, He resumed, harder and deeper than before. He only slowed when He would cum, taking a moment to catch His breath, then continue. This continued for two hours, Horus’s stomach a large, shining, bulging mass, and his lips faded save for where they were coated in dried—and wet—drool. There was a pool of various fluids beneath him, sweat, slobber, and the Emperor’s ejaculations that didn’t go inside. Horus just panted, tongue hanging out of his mouth limply as his Father continued to ravage what was left of his anus. He needed to release himself from the damned binding on his shaft but was unable to do so, no matter how hard he pulled it, twisted it, rubbed it, or swelled. And so he fought no more, succumbing only to the bliss that rammed into his spot over and over, his body screaming to climax and being denied.

“Father don’t stop don’t ever stop don’t…” he mumbled as the Emperor filled him again, spurting around His shaft and drizzling down Horus’s sack.

What Horus knew—and the Emperor—was that Slaanesh had grown bored nearly an hour earlier and left. They also both knew that the Emperor was no stranger to Horus, and they knew that repentance was going to be a lot harder to prove for the rest of the Imperium if the Emperor did not intervene dramatically.

What Horus _didn’t_ know was how dramatic the Emperor intended to be. But, having learned that keeping secrets from His sons was only proving more a problem than a solution, the Emperor pulled Horus to his chest while still lodged deeply in his ass. He licked down Horus’s neck and bit his shoulder, licking up the blood before digging His gauntlets into Horus’s nipples. Horus screamed in pleasure as the Emperor twisted, then leaned forward just enough that His lips pressed against Horus’s earlobe.

“Repenting wouldn’t be nearly as hard if you’d not been so determined to rebel so…mercilessly…but it pleases me that you’re willing to try,” the Emperor whispered into Horus’s ear before biting it. Horus moaned as blood trickled down his neck, body limp save for where the Emperor held him up. And save for his extended, stiff, throbbing, desperate cock.

“But now that you’ve tasted chaos…it seems you’ll need a bigger taste of order. You will serve me for a year, at my side specifically. You will not leave my sight. You will not speak to _anyone_ without both my permission and presence. As for your Legion, well,” the Emperor turned towards them and pulled out roughly, letting Horus collapse back to hands and knees. “Your First Captain will repent with you, as he is also your lead advisor. The others will be divided amongst the other Legions, with what else can be salvaged. And the Sons of Horus are no more. I will think of a more fitting name for them as soon as I have the time to spare.”

And Horus fell to the ground in a twitching heap, barely able to watch the room around him as the Emperor approached his First Captain. His mouth opened, but his voice was gone. Ezekyle was, of course, ready to fight to the death when the Emperor grabbed him by the throat and threw him into Horus. The room was quiet a moment; the Mournival unsure of whether they should attack or defend, and the loyalist groups unsure of what the Emperor intended.

“Appease your Primarch, Captain,” the Emperor said quietly. Abaddon stared a moment, halfway through regaining his footing before he looked down at Horus. The Warmaster’s tongue threatened to bulge out of his mouth, his eyes dancing between wide open and tightly shut.

“Sir…?” Abaddon asked, kneeling beside Horus and trying to gently shake him back sensible. Horus didn’t respond except to laugh hoarsely, then shiver more. Abaddon shook him again, confused at what he saw.

“Are you going to defy direct orders, First Captain?” the Emperor growled, right behind him and lifting him up by the shoulders. “I told you to appease your Primarch, not shake him.”

“I don’t have to take orders from y—”

Before he could finish, his face was on the ground with a flaming sword at his cheek and both arms pulled behind his back.

“You don’t have an option of who you take orders from anymore, boy,” the Emperor stated, dragging the blade over Abaddon’s cheek before jamming it into the ship’s flooring and using psychic power to cuff the Astartes’ arms behind him. He lifted up Horus somewhat gently, stroked the underside of His son’s shaft, then pulled the plug out, leaving the ring on. He tightened the ring one notch, then turned Horus to see his First Captain prone, ass in the air, and still wet from their earlier encounter. Horus lunged towards him, only to be held back by the Emperor. His lungs filled with a deep breath, then he whined as pathetically as he could manage.

“Is my oldest Wolf hungry?” the Emperor teased, letting Horus tug against Him a bit before pulling him back taut.

“Father, I have…I have to…” Horus sputtered, uncertain of what he intended to say. All he knew was there was a thick, moist ass right in front of him and he would not relent until his cock was deep inside.

“Beg, Horus, and I’ll sate your hunger completely,” the Emperor whispered.

“Father please, please, please let me fuck him, please, I’ll do anything if you’ll let me shove my meat inside his tight, quivering ass, please, Father, please!” Horus begged. The Emperor smirked and released Horus, watching His son slam himself balls-deep into his First Captain with near insatiable lust. He pounded Abaddon’s ass over and over, faster, and harder. Abaddon screamed in delight, shoving his butt towards Horus when he felt something else squeeze into his ass. He cringed and tried to pull away only to have himself jerked further onto _two_ shafts.

“Don’t be so greedy, Horus, there’s plenty for us both,” the Emperor stated, hands holding the psychic handcuffs so that Abaddon’s chest was a few inches off the floor. He stood behind Horus and matched each thrust into the First Captain’s anus. After they both came, He began thrusting when Horus pulled out. Abaddon had stopped yelling, and instead only let out orgasmic moans as his stomach overflowed with juice from the two men he’d considered great. His cock had emptied itself at least four times on the floor beneath him, the first time with shame, and the last three times with nothing but bliss. Horus was also lost in bliss, his body shaking violently with every thrust as his Primarch stamina began to fade.

“Rogal, come measure both of their necks,” the Emperor commanded, pulling out with a solid pop as Horus collapsed forward on top of Abaddon. Dorn stared, his face redder than his brother, Magnus’s, and his composure all but gone. He blinked several times before he could manage to nod, pulling out a small measurement device and walking over to the cum-covered pair breathing heavily on the floor. He started to kneel down when he felt Horus’s hand clutch his codpiece and rip it off.

“Brother sto—”

Before Dorn could finish, Horus had taken his entire shaft—that he hadn’t expected to be nearly as hard or wet as it was—down to the hilt and was running his tongue up and down, pushing his teeth into Dorn’s skin. Dorn gasped, looking at his Father in shock.

“F-Father?” Dorn asked, mouth agape and ideas on what to do gone. The Emperor shrugged and looked down at Horus’s ass, no longer leaking His cum and felt moderately disappointed.

“If you can’t measure while he sucks, hand me the tool, Rogal,” the Emperor stated, hand outstretched while His other hand ran over Horus’s crack. Rogal couldn’t move, somewhere between stunned and ashamed, but managed to offer the Emperor the measuring device he’d designed mostly to spite Perturabo. And then Horus pressed his tongue firmly against Dorn’s tip and licked up. Rogal Dorn maintained his pride by only letting out a small gasp as his cum burst into Horus’s mouth, but pulled himself back and away, staring down at his brother in confused embarrassment. Horus was licking his lips with an oddly pleased look on his face, then growled when he couldn’t reach Dorn’s cock to drink more.

“Thirsty…” Horus mumbled, eyes glazed over. It was then that Sanguinius stepped forward again.

“If you will quench my thirst, Brother, I will quench yours,” the Angel stated. Horus nodded as Sanguinius pulled him to his feet and began biting down his chest. He groaned in pleasure, his cock barely able to leak but spitting out all it could as the teeth dug into his abdomen. He felt them slide back up his body, something cool run around his neck, voices talking about collars, and then thick, red, spurting fluid on his ear, neck, shoulder, and drizzling down his chest. Horus allowed Sanguinius to lick every drop of blood off of him, Primarch healing keeping the bite wound from being fatal. Sanguinius licked up and down Horus’s throat, nipping every few moments to get more blood. The ritual—there was nothing else to call it—of Sanguinius sucking the blood out of Horus continued for several moments until Horus staggered forward, light-headed and dehydrated. The Angel’s cock was throbbing, but he was able to hold the cum in while he pulled away and helped his brother’s mouth to his neck.

“Drink, Horus, drink and be free,” he whispered, leaning slightly to the side so Horus could feel the blood pulsing through his veins. Horus licked Sanguinius’s neck, the Angel shuddering and his wings flapping violently when Horus’s teeth pierced the skin. Horus made certain that his cock was rubbing against his brother’s as well, using his hands to hold them together and thrust. The _Vengeful Spirit _was preparing for another Warp jump—back to Terra this time, instead of away—while Horus and Sanguinius came all over each other’s stomachs. The Emperor, content with the display, pulled them apart and kissed Horus firmly, pulling him into a seat where he continued to pound His son through the jump. For the three days it took to get back to Terra, Horus and Abaddon had been put on display for anyone and everyone to use. Only Sanguinius was allowed to actually touch them—well, Rogal Dorn had permission, but he waited for everyone to go to sleep before he indulged such primitive needs—but everyone else on board was encouraged to jerk off and cum on them both. Some had even turned it into a competition, others into something of an artistic endeavor. The bindings on the pair were made with the Emperor’s psychic will. Abaddon was chained with his arms back, legs spread, while Horus had a collar that tightened if he pulled too hard and a clasp on his shaft that made it, once again, impossible for him to release without the Emperor’s permission.

And in all of this, Horus had learned two important things. The first that pleased his Father more than the second, was that he could beg, whimper, moan, and pant just as good as the first time the Emperor had ravaged his ass. The second was that if he hadn’t gotten enough attention, he could pull forward and choke himself. The lack of air turned him on as much as his Father walking in naked, and often managed to get a little squirt of cum out of his bound cock. Sometimes, when taking Sanguinius, Dorn, or the Emperor in his mouth, he would pull forward to get even more stimulation. Their thick fluids drizzling down his throat while he could barely swallow gave him bliss he couldn’t describe.

Abaddon had relished in the new position as well, enjoying strange fetishes he and Horus had not yet explored. Being spanked, gagged, and blindfolded were all things that would get his cock fully erect with little effort, but to make him splatter his fluids all over the room, there were two simple things to do. Squeeze his ass firmly, enough that it left fingerprints or fingernail divots, or to penetrate his cock. At one point, someone had sliced enough blood out of him to paint the word ‘masochistic cumsleeve’ on his chest, and he’d released so hard the word cum was replaced with the actual thing.

Once they had docked at Terra, the Emperor had them wear collars Rogal Dorn had made with great care, loincloths that covered just barely enough, and leashes of auramite. He escorted them to the palace, ignoring many shouts and whines that the Throne had consumed the Sigillite and the astronomican was barely functional. He cared not. Malcador would be named a hero, and the traitors that had failed to take Terra would be hunted and offered a small chance at redemption. As He had suspected, Horus was the core to the plans of Chaos. Perhaps not the one who went looking for it, but the one that had been the pinnacle. Some of the traitors would limp back, some would be purged for their defiance.

But as He latched His favorite son to the Golden Throne and pulled him back into His lap, shoving Himself in raw and smiling at Horus immediately begging for more, the Emperor decided that parenting may not have been His greatest strength, but one out of twenty-one was good enough odds for Him.


End file.
